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/ 


OUT OF HIS SPHERE 


A pvama in i'hvcc Acts 



DAVID HILL 

AUTHOR OF “FORCED TO THE WAR,” “BOUND BY AN OATH,” ETC. 










CAST OF CHARACTERS. 


Jedediah Blood . 
Thomas Blood 
Carl Schmidt 
Alp-honso Markham . 
John . 

Mary Mower 
Betty Blood . 

Lucy Blood . 


. A farmer 
. . . His sou 

. . His hired man 

. . A rich man 

. . His servant 

. His maid servant 
. Wife of Jedediah 
. . His daughter 



Copyright, 1889, by Walter H, Baker & Co. 


IMP92-009197 






SYNOPSIS.. 


ACT I. 

Kitchen in Jedediah’s house. A stormy night. Family 
jar. Jedediah’s return. A much abused man. “ Hain’t I 
been wrecked with floods, an’ blizzards, an’ hurricanes, an’ 
every other calamity under the sun ? ” Dissatisfied with his 
sphere in life. “ I want ter be rich, that’s what I want, an’ 
with nuthin’ ter du but jest sit around an’ take life easy.” 
Mr. Markham seeks shelter from the storm. Jedediah 
relates his troubles, after which he retires. Scheme between 
Mrs. Blood and Mr. Markham to cure Jedediah from grum¬ 
bling. The Dutchman let into the secret. “ You vhas der 
doctor, und I vhas der general superintendent. Pizness is 
pizness.” Jedediah placed under the influence of anaesthetics 
and taken to the mansion of Mr. Markham. 

ACT II. 

Room in Markham’s mansion. Jedediah awakes from his 
stupor. A bewildered man. “ What — on — airth — Why ! 
where am I, anyhow!” Female servants not wanted. Be¬ 
lieves himself to be dreaming and endeavors to awake. “ I’ve 
hern tell if you could shout, or thrash yourself about, it 
would wake you from the toughest nightmare on record. So 
here goes.” Interview between Jedediah and John. “ Wise 
man holds tongue. Old proverb. Better follow it.” Fun 
by the bushel. More and more bewildered. Mrs. Blood as 

3 



4 


SYNOPSIS. 


Mrs. Southernwood. An explanation wanted. “ For 
Heaven’s sake tell me where I am an’ what’s the matter.” 
Old home the best. Asleep or crazy — which ? “ Oh, Lord, 

I’m in a lunatic asylum, an’ these servants are my keepers.” 
Jedediah retires. Once more returned to his old home. 

ACT III. 

Same as Act I. Conundrums. “ Why do some ladies 
who do up their hair imitate a rooster? ” The Dutchman’s 
conundrum. “Vy does der hen move his head back und 
forth vhen she vhalks ? ” Something about base-ball. Jed¬ 
ediah awakes. “ I’ve had a dream.” So have Thomas and 
the Dutchman. Jedediah’s story. A permanent cure. “No 
matter under what circumstances I am placed, or how poor 
my condition may be, I will never again find fault with my 
sphere in life.” 



OUT OF HIS SPHERE. 


ACT I. 

Scene. — Kitchen in Jedediah’s house. Stove l. c. back. 
Cupboard l. c. for dishes , etc. Table r. c. front , con- 
taming dishes , food ’ etc. Lighted lamp on table. En¬ 
trance c. Mrs. Blood seated near sto7>e knitting. Lucy 
seated at R. of table readi?ig. Thomas standing at L. i E. 
and holdmg a blowpipe in his hand. Sound of wind and 

rain at rise of curtain. 

Thomas. Say! ain’t we goin’ ter have eny supper to¬ 
night ? I’m hungry. 

Mrs. Blood. Yes, Thomas, just as soon as your father 
returns. He should have been here an hour ago ; but this 
storm has doubtless detained him. 

Thomas. Well, he might ’a’ got here Tore it commenced, 
then. Don’t know’s we’ve got ter wait all night for him. 
Like as not he won’t be here afore a week. 

Lucy ( without looking up). Oh, pshaw ! you won’t 
starve. 

Thomas (mimicking). Won’t starve ! Oh, no ; I won’t 
starve. That’s all you know about it. Guess if you’d 
worked like a dog all day as I hev, you’d be hungry. 

Lucy. Oh, my ! what a pity. I guess you won’t hurt your¬ 
self. Why, you couldn’t bring in a pail of water without 
resting. 

Thomas. Oh, you’re ’cute, ain’t you. You know too much, 
you do. If Bill Chase should see you home from singin’- 
school agin, you’d be too ’cute ter live. 

Mrs. Blood. Come, come, children ; don’t be continually 
wrangling. Thomas, why is it that Carl is so late about at¬ 
tending to the chores ? 

5 


\ 



6 


OUT OF HIS SPHERE. 


Thomas. Oh, he’s probably asleep under some haystack 
somewheres, a-thinkin’ it’s noon. Ain’t good for nothin’, that 
Dutchman ain’t, only to drink beer. 

Carl ( entering c.). Vot’s dot! Carl Schmidt make a 
lager-peer saloon mit himself. Dot ish not so. I have drink 
no peer, save von leedle glass dot cost not ash much ash tri 
cents. ( Crosses to cupboard and takes out lantern, which 
he proceeds to lights) 

Thomas. It’s ’cause you couldn’t get it, then. You’d 
drink a quart if you had a chance, I’ll bet a dollar. 

Carl. You ish von funny poy. When I have von leedle 
poy like dot, I takes him on top my knee mit a boot-jack, und 
don’t you forget him. ( Lights match , which Thomas blows 
out with blowpipe unperceivedi) 

Mrs. Blood. Has Jedediah returned, Carl? 

Carl ( lighting another match). Veil, I dinks so. He 
ish mit der horse on der stable already. Dot- man ish 
troubled mit his tongue to-night, und you vill find him oudt. 
(Thomas blows out match.) Mine Cot in himmel! vot ails 
der matches ? 

Lucy. Tom blew it out, Carl; I-saw him. 

Thomas. Oh, yes, you had ter tell, didn’t you. Can’t keep 
nuthin’ ter yourself, nohow. I hate a tattle-tale wus’n the 
itch. 

Carl ( lighting lantern). Veil, a poy dot don’t mind his 
own pizness ish not much petter. 

Jedediah {outside). Carl — Carl Schmidt, you Dutch 
villain, where are you ? 

Carl. Yaw ! yaw ! I vas mit you already. ( Rushes out.) 

Mrs. Blood {rising and putting away work). Come, 
Lucy, put away that book, and assist about supper. Your 
father will be nervous to-night, and when he is you know 
the consequences. Get the tea ready, while I attend to the 
table. {Arranges table.) 

Lucy {closingbook and rising). Oh, dear ! I wish I could 
finish this chapter; but it’s just the way — get to a place 
that’s interesting, and you always have to leave off. 

Thomas. Tain’t nuthin’but a novel, anyway; an’ dad 
says your nose is alius stuck into one. He’s right, I guess, 
’cause it’s long enough ter reach clean through if it wusn’t 
turned up. 

Lucy {turning out tea). Well, it’s pretty as your nose, 
I guess; if it wasn’t, I’d cut it off. {Spilling teal) ' Oh, dear! 


OUT OF HIS SPHERE. 


7 


there goes the tea and one finger. I knew I should burn me 
when I commenced. 

Thomas. So did I; an’ I’m glad of it. Wish it had been 
your nose, though, ’cause you knows too much — ’specially 
when Bill Chase’s around. Say, he makes me think of a 
tub er rain water. Want ter know why ? ’Cause he’s soft, 
he ! he ! he ! 

Lucy. Well, he knows as much as you do every day in 
the week. 

Thomas. Yes, an' Sundays thrown in ; but he can’t tell 
why a skeeter is like a poor debtor, an’ I kin. 

Lucy. Well, why is it ? 

Thomas. ’Cause it runs a long bill. Say, do you know 
why Bill Chase makes me think of a skeeter ? 

Lucy. He don’t make me think of one half as much as 
you do. 

Thomas. Don’t, hey? Well, now, I should like ter 
know why I make you think of a skeeter. 

Lucy. Because you try to make some sharp points, and 
don’t ; a mosquito does. 

Thomas. Oh, you're ’cute, ain’t you. You jest tell me why 
Bill Chase resembles a skeeter, an’ I’ll give in. 

Lucy. How do you suppose I know ! Why does he ? 

Thomas. ’Cause he’s a-chasin’ after Blood; a skeeter 
does the same thing, he ! he ! he ! 

Mrs. Blood. Come, come, children; you are getting alto¬ 
gether too personal in your remarks. Thomas, sit down in that 
chair, and be a good boy. (Thomas sits l.) Lucy, place the 
chairs around the table. (Lucy places chairs.) Here comes 
your father, he will straighten you out. (Enter Jedediah.) 
Well, Jedediah, have you returned ? 

Jedediah (fakmg off hat and coat and hanging them 
uf near door). Looks like it, don’t it ? Couldn't hev 
come without bein’ here, could I ? That’s jest about ez rea¬ 
sonable ez some women pretend ter be. (Looking at tablet) 
Ain’t supper ready? 

Mrs. Blood. Looks like it, don’t it? Couldn’t have the 
food on the table, and the tea turned out, without its being 
ready, could I ? Some men are so unreasonable. 

Jedediah. That’s right! that’s right! hev the last word 
if you want it. If you couldn’t you'd die for sartin. How 
hev things gone to-day ? — ter rack an’ ruin, I s’pose, like 
ez usual! 


8 


OUT OF HIS SPHERE. 


Thomas. O dad! Carl broke the hoe handle, an’ I’ye 
broken the rake ; an’ the brindle cow got her head stuck in 
a bucket, an’ runned clean through widder McCay’s washin’, 
an’ — an’ strung it all ter slivers Arter that she got her 
head stuck in a fence. The widder says you've got ter pay 
the damages, though. 

Jedediah. Likely ez not! likely ez not! Jest my pesky, 
consarned luck. Everything goes wrong eend to the moment 
I’m out o’ sight. Now, that cantankerous old cow hez most 
likely taken a five-dollar bill clean out o’ my pocketbook, ter 
say nuthin’ about the hoe. 

Thomas. An’ the rake. 

Mrs. Blood. Jedediah, supper is ready. 

Jedediah. An’ I’m ready for supper. I kin eat if I can’t 
du nuthin’ else. Tom, call that Dutchman. He’d die if he 
couldn’t be called. (Tom exit c.) Come ! I’m waitin’. 
(Jedediah sits at table, back ; Mrs. Blood r., Lucy r. c. 
front i) 

Mrs. Blood. How have you prospered to-day, Jedediah ? 

Jedediah. Prospered? For the Lord’s sake don’t men¬ 
tion prosperity ter me. The whiffle-tree broke afore I’d 
gone a mile, an’ arter that the old mare got frightened at an 
umbril in front of Lawson’s store, an’ that wound up the 
dasher; an’, ter make matters worse, I’ll be blest if I didn’t 
lose my wallet when I needed it the most. 

Mrs. Blood. How much money was there in it, Jed ? 

Jedediah. Not a cent; but I wanted the wallet, didn’t I ? 
What’s the use of ownin’ a wallet unless you kin hev it when 
you want it ? Pass that bread, 

Lucy. O father ! didn’t you purchase me a new novel ? 

Jedediah. Naw, I didn’t purchase a new novel.' I hain’t 
got money ter waste on eny sech trash. It takes all I kin 
rake an’ scrape ter keep ye in clothes, without wastin’ it on 
truck that ain’t of eny account. 

Lucy. Why, father, there’s a novel stickin’ out of your 
pocket now ! 

Jedediah. Hey ? (Pulling almanac out of his pocket .) 
That ain't a novel! That’s an almanac. It’s a year old, an’ 
the kiver’s gone ; but it’s jest ez good, though, an’ contains 
a heap more common sense than half of the books that are 
printed. Here, take it. (Throws it over to Lucy.) Can’t 
help thinkin’ ’bout that pesky old cow. 

Mrs. Blood.' Well, well, Jedediah, don’t let that trouble 



OUT OF HIS SPHERE. 


9 


you in the least. It is my opinion the damage will be slight, 
even if there is any at all. Lucy, why don’t you lay the 
almanac aside, and attend to your supper ? 

Lucy. I want to look it through. 

Jedediah. Of course she does. Get her nose into a 
book an’ she’s ez fast ez a fox in a trap. The only difference 
is, you kin get the fox out, an’ her nose you can’t. 

(Enter Carl and Thomas quarrelling.) 

Carl. Veil, dot ish no joke. You drips up mine heels, 
und der lantern goes on top der ground. It vas a good lan¬ 
tern to stand all dat midout a broke. 

Thomas. You might er got out of the way if you didn’t 
want ter get tripped up. 

Carl. I vas not in der vay. You vas in der vay mit 
yourself. How could I broke der lantern, if you vas not in 
der vay ? 

Jedediah. What’s that? the lantern smashed ? Jest my 
luck — smash, smash ! the hull time. Why in natur I wasn’t 
born rich, or lucky, ez other folks, I don’t know. How in 
the name of Pike’s Peak did you smash that lantern ? 

Carl ( putting laiitern in cupboard'). Veil, dot poy 
come on top my boots mit his feet, und I fall over him 
pehind. Dot vas not goot for der lantern, und I dinks it 
vas not good for mine head der same vay. 

Jedediah. It’s a durned pity it hadn’t broken your neck. 
Tom, what did you trip him up for? 

Thomas. ’Cause he punched me with a fork. 

Carl. Vot’s dot ? I punch him mit a fork ? Dot ish 
not so. 

Jedediah. Well, you two plank yourselves down to the 
table an’ see if you can smash that. 

Carl. Veil, I vas ready to try if it vill cost nuthings. 
(Carl sits l., ^Thomas l. q .. front.) 

Thomas. Say, dad, the pigs got out to-day, an’ they’ve 
eat up more’n a dozen cabbages. 

Jedediah. Don’t doubt it — don’t doubt it in the least. 
If a bombshell should light down here some day an’ blow 
this hull consarn into kingdom come, I wouldn’t be a bit 
surprised. I’m unlucky — that’s what I am — unlucky; an’ 
a farmer alius is. He hain’t got eny enjoyment like ez other 
people, an.’ never kin hev. It’s my luck, though, — my 
pesky, consarned luck. 

Mrs. Blood. Now, don’t talk so, Jedediah. You might 


IO 


OUT OF HIS SPHERE. 


do worse than to be a farmer.’ It is my conviction that no 
one class of people are so happy, or more independent, than 
the general run of farmers, class them together. 

Carl. Yaw, yaw, dot ish so. I vas a farmer mine self. 

Jedediah. That’s all you know about it. Ez for me, I 
jest hanker for some other sphere in life. I’ve got sick of 
this old rut I’ve been runnin’ in for years, an’ want a change. 
I want ter be rich, that’s what I want, an’ with nuthin’ ter 
du but jest take life easy. Now, some folks kin dress in fine 
clothes, an’ be flush with money, an' du nuthin’, an’ be jest 
ez happy ez a new spring lamb. That’s jest where I want 
ter be placed ; but I never shall be, ’cause it ain’t my luck. 

Mrs. Blood. Why, Jed, you would be out of your sphere 
in the role of gentleman—just think of it. 

Jedediah. Would, hey? Wa’all, I’d like ter try it 
once, jest for greens. I reckon I could be happy if I couldn’t 
anything else. Anyhow, I couldn’t be worse off than I am 
now. 

Thomas (who has worked his plate to the edge of the 
table, where it falls off). There goes the plate. 

Jedediah. Yes, an’ the way of everything else. Con¬ 
found the luck ! why can’t you be keerful! It is so strange — 
(Knocks cup off tablel) That’s right! go it! ( Gets uf, knock¬ 
ing over chair. Picks it up and throws it across stage.) 
There ! see if you kin keep right eend up over there. (Knock 
at door R. c. A ll rise.) Carl, go to the door. 

Carl. Yaw, I vas mit der door already. ( Goes to door.) 

Jedediah (l.). I wonder who in timenation is cornin’ 
here on sech a night ez this. (Carl returns.) Wa’all, who 
is it ? 

Carl. Dar ish a man at der door. Der man say, “It 
vas a vet evening.” Veil, I knows dot already. Und den 
der man say, “ Mine goot friendt, der vas a man in der 
vagon ash would like to come mit der house till der storm 
vas away.” I told him I ask you some tings apout it. 

Jedediah. Jest our pesky luck. Wa’all, Bet, what du ye 
say? Shall they come in ? 

Mrs. Blood. Why, certainly ; you wouldn’t turn them 
out in the rain, would you ? Carl, show them in. (Exit 
Carl.) Lucy, clear away the table. Thomas, move that 
chair over there, and sit down, and be a good boy. 

Thomas (going l.). I don’t want ter sit down. 

Jedediah. You du ez she tells yer. (Thomas w/jl.) 


OUT OF HIS SPHERE. 


I I 

( Enter Carl, Mr. Markham, and John. Carl and John 

remain standing at door.) 

Mr. Markham. I trust you will pardon this intrusion; 
but the inclemency of the weather has bid me seek your 
fireside. As soon as the storm is passed, I will continue my 
journey. 

Mrs. Blood. It is no intrusion, I assure you. Our doors 
are always open to those in distress, and the stranger is also 
welcome. Please be seated. (Mr. Markham sits c. R.). 

Jedediah (c. l.). Lucy, place his brother a cheer, 
can’t ye ? 

Mr. Markham. Pardon me, sir; but he is my coach¬ 
man. He can remain at the door. 

Jedediah. Jest like one o’ my pesky mistakes. I alius 
blunder into ’em ez easily ez a woodchuck into a trap. Might 
’a' knowed he wasn't yer brother, by the looks o’ the critter. 

Mrs. Blood. Why, Jedediah, do be careful. 

Carl (aside to John). Dot vas a compliment to you, 
mine friendt. 

John. How? 

Carl. Veil, I don’t know ash how , but I dinks it vas a 
compliment. 

Jedediah. Carl, you jest attend ter his horses, an’ git ’em 
under kiver. It’s a-rainin’ like sixty, an’ they want shelter 
like ez anybody else. 

(Carl and John exeunt r. c.) 

Mr. Markham. I was most unfortunate in not reaching 
the village hotel before the storm set in, but a slight accident 
to my carriage detained me. We are all subject to accidents, 
however, and must accept them cheerfully. 

Jedediah. That is, if yer kin. Ez fer me, I'm so pesky 
unfortunit that I feel like a cross-cut saw the hull time. Du 
you live in these parts ? 

Mr. Markham. My mansion, sir, is situated near the 
coast. Alphonso Markham is my name. No doubt it is 
familiar to you. 

Jedediah. Wa’all, sorter, though I reckon I have never 
seen ye afore. An’ so ye live in a mansion, du ye ? I vum! 
you ought ter feel happy. Why, I’d give haflf a corn crop ter 
jest know the happiness of livin’ in a mansion fer six months. 
I tell yer, ye don’t know much about the misfortunes that 
‘ beset a man in humble life ; yer don’t know much about it. 


12 


OUT OF HIS SPHERE. 


Mrs. Blood. Why, Jedediah, your talk will lead the gen¬ 
tleman to believe that your lot is an unhappy one. 

Jedediah. Dod rot it! I want ter know if it ain’t. There's 
jest a thick fog of unhappiness a-clingin’ ter me the hull time. 
Hain’t I been wrecked with floods an’ blizzards an’ hurricanes, 
an’every other calamity under the sun? Unhappy! Why, 
there’s jest a flood of unhappiness a-surgin’ around me from 
one year’s end ter another. 

Mrs. Blood. You don’t consider, Jedediah, that sickness 
and death have never invaded our abode, and that while 
others are deprived of the necessities of life, we have much 
to be thankful for. For one, I consider our situation might 
be worse off, by far, than it really is. 

Jedediah. Yes, it might, an’ then agin it mightn’t. You 
alius would look on the bright side, even of a thunder cloud. 
I kinder cakerlate there’s time enough for sickness an’ death, 
if you’ll only give ’em a chance. Only wait, that’s all. 

Mr. Markham. I fear, madam, that your husband is 
wrongly impressed as to the happiness of those whom he 
considers in the upper circles of society. There is a skeleton 
in the closet of every mansion, as well as in every cottage. 
Even in my own closet this same skeleton abides. Wealth, 
my friends, is a bubble of many colors, dazzling and resplen¬ 
dent, but behind it are many sorrows forever hidden from the 
eyes of the world. 

Jedediah. Wa’all, that may be, but I’d jest like ter run my 
boat in that channel for a year or tu, anyhow. I reckon I'd 
steer clear o’ the breakers so long ez the cash held out, if I 
didn’t eny longer. Come, children, scooter ter bed, an 1 I’ll 
follow ye. It ain’t perlite ter leave company, but I’ve got a 
hard day’s work on hand to-morrow, an’ need rest. Betty, 
here, will du the visitin’. Thomas, the fust thing in the 
mornin’ look ter that air fence where the pigs got out. 

Thomas. Let Carl do it. 

Jedediah. No, Carl hez got ter help me. Besides, I want 
him ter hoe the corn ; that is, if the crows hev left eny ter hoe. 

Thomas. Well, I don’t want ter work all the hull time. 
I want ter play ball to-morrow. 

Jedediah. You’ll fix that fence, so there’s an eend ter 
that. Now trot. 

Thomas. By Gosh ! I wish I was a man. Boys ain’t no 
account, nohow. They’ve got ter be bossed around the hull 
time. 


OUT OF IIIS SPHERE. 1 3 

Jededtah. You start. You’ll be a man soon enough, an’ 
then you’ll wish you was a boy. I du already. Come. 
Thomas. We-e- 11 . 

Jedediah. There is no well about it. You start ter bed, 
er I 11 use a persuader, an’ mighty quick, too. 

Thomas. Ain't I er-goin’, I should like ter know? (Exit 
l. 3 E.) 

Mrs. Blood. Come, Lucy, put aside that book and follow 
your brother. 

Lucy. I should like to finish this chapter. 

Mrs. Blood. You can finish that in the morning. 

Lucy. Oh, dear! I wish I could have my own way part of 
the time. (Exits l. 3 E.) 

Jedediah. Children's a pesky nuisance, anyway, an’ it’s 
a nuisance a poor man is alius sure ter have on hand. They 
come like the plague, an’ cling like the canker-rash, an’ the 
poorer a person is the thicker they come. Well, Bet, I’ll 
leave you ter du the visitin’, an’ Carl kin attend ter the horses. 
I’m pesky tired, an’ so will leave ye ter yourselves. (Takes 
candle from cupboard ,, lights it , and exit l. 3 e.) 

Mr. Markham. I perceive that your husband is dissat¬ 
isfied with his sphere in life ; also, that he does not appreciate 
children according to their real value. Has this always been 
the case ? 

Mrs. Blood. To a certain extent, it has. My husband 
loves his children, though, and no influence could be brought 
to bear that would lead him to part from them. His failing 
is the art of borrowing trouble. Could he overcome that, no 
more indulgent husband or father could be found. 

Mr. Markham. Have you ever endeavored to explain to 
him that he was pursuing the wrong course ? 

Mrs. Blood. Yes, frequently ; but my words are of no 
avail. Of late, matters of little importance so irritate him 
that he scarcely realizes a moment of happiness. To such 
an extent has this increased that I sometimes fear for the 
worst. 

Mr. Markham. Would you mind resorting to a little 
harmless scheme, if you thought you could restore your hus¬ 
band to his usual gayety, and lead him to appreciate his sur¬ 
roundings ? 

Mrs. Blood. I would do anything that was honorable to 
make him like his former self; but alas ! I fear it can never be. 

Mr. Markham. Pardon me, madam, but I think it is not 


14 


OUT OF HIS SPHERE. 


impossible. In fact, I think it can be easily accomplished. 
If, knowing me to be a man of integrity, as you have learned 
through reports, no doubt, you will judge me in the capacity 
of friend, I will undertake the task with pleasure. 

Mrs. Blood. I do not understand you. 

Mr. Markham. Then let me be more explicit. It is my 
belief that your husband looks upon wealth as the source of 
all happiness. Now, if he could be taught to think differently 
— in fact, if wealth could be made to appear as an eyesore in 
his sight, would he not, think you, appreciate his present sur¬ 
roundings, and enjoy life better ? 

Mrs. Blood. I dare not say ; but how is this to be accom¬ 
plished ? 

Mr. Markham. Through means which I will now sug¬ 
gest. Your husband shall be taken to my residence in an un¬ 
conscious state. He shall be placed in bed in one of the best 
rooms, and left to himself. When he awakes the change that 
has taken place will bewilder him. At first he will think he 
is in a dream, from which he has not fully awakened, but in 
time, as the truth of his situation dawns upon him, he will 
believe himself to be insane. My servants shall attend him, 
and help add to his bewilderment. You shall appear before 
him in a different character, and sanction all the servants 
have said. If he speaks of his old home or about his chil¬ 
dren, express ignorance of their existence, and upbraid him 
for his conduct. These measures, if well carried out, will 
have an effect, I think, that will be greatly beneficial to his 
future life. After the deception is complete, the same means 
we resort to for his removal can be resorted to for his return. 
The question is, are you willing, with my assistance, to under¬ 
take the scheme ? 

Mrs. Blood. If no evil will result from it, I am; but 
when is this to be done ? 

Mr. Markham. This very night. As I can hear our ser¬ 
vants approaching, we will proceed at once. 

Carl. (Carl and John enter c. r.) Veil, der sky vas 
all cleared oop. It vas come and go midout a pause, like a 
Dutchman's temper. I like a storm like dot. 

Mr. Markham. So much the better for our plans. (To 
John.) John, this lady’s husband is to be transferred to my 
carriage, and driven to my residence without delay. It must 
be accomplished without his knowledge. In order to do this 
he must be placed under the influence of anaesthetics. As 


OUT OF HIS SPHERE. 


15 


you are well versed in their use, you will take this case, and 
set about the task at once. I will explain matters at another 
time. Be cautious, and do as I bid you. ( Takes case from 
his pocket and gives it to John.) 

John. I understand. I am ready. Lead the way. 

Carl (surprised). Py chiminy ! vot is oop now ? 

Mrs. Blood. It is this, Carl. Of late Jedediah is hardly 
like himself. The least thing irritates him, and he is contin¬ 
ually brooding over imaginary troubles. 

Carl. Veil, I knows dot already. 

Mrs. Blood. Now, through the assistance of this gentle¬ 
man, we are going to undertake a change. We need your 
help. Do as you are commanded, and I will see to the chil¬ 
dren, and that the farm is properly cared for during our ab¬ 
sence. See that Jedediah is properly dressed, and help con¬ 
vey him to the carriage. 

Carl. Oxzickly. I vas on hand. Come, mine frient, you 
vas der doctor, and I vas der general superintendent. Piz- 
ness is pizness. 

John. Lead the way, I follow. Proceed. 

(Carl exit l. 3 e., followed by John.) 

Mrs. Blood (coming down l.). Are you sure that no risk 
is attended in this venture ? that the experiment is perfectly 
harmless ? 

Mr. Markham (r.). Perfectly harmless, I assure you. 
My servant is thoroughly conversant in his art, having prac¬ 
tised medicine at one time, and in this case will be unusually 
careful. Harbor no fears as to the results. 

Mrs. Blood. But the sequel: my fears are grounded 
upon that. My husband, though not as quick in perception 
as some, is not easily deceived. Should he mistrust our 
scheme, the consequences would be disastrous. 

Mr. Markham. We will guard against that as much as 
possible. My servants shall be instructed how to act. Every 
avenue tending to create the slightest suspicion shall be 
guarded against. Of course, like every other venture in life, 
there are risks attending it; but I will do my best to succeed. 

Mrs. Blood. And I trust, for his own happiness as well 
as my own, that you may. 

John (appearing L. 3 e.). The job is done. He soundly 
sleeps. What next ? 

Mr. Markham. Convey him to the carriage. Watch 
over him carefully, and I will attend to the horses. Every- 


16 


OUT OF HIS SPHERE. 


thing must be done with the utmost despatch. Now go, and 
bring him forth. 

John. All right. ( Disappears .) 

Mr. Markham {coming down r.). My dear madam, har¬ 
bor not the slightest fear. My name, as I have already said, 
shall be a safe guaranty for your husband. It will be neces¬ 
sary for me to urge my horses as fast as possible, and I shall 
probably leave you behind. You and your servant can follow 
at leisure. 

Mrs. Blood. I shall submit the case into your hands, 
and hope for the best. 

Carl {off l. 3 e.). Open der door! Open der door! 
(Mrs. Blood opens door l. 3 e., and remains l. Carl and 
John enter with Jedediah.) My gracious! where is der 
derrick ? Mine back is broken like as never vas. Mine 
frient, I vas at der head, but I change places mit you midout 
a cent. 

John. Move on. Continue. Advance. 

Carl. Advance! Vas I a soldier ? I vas not. Mine 
frient, sing out a retreat, and I vas mit you like a flash. 

{Exeunt r. e. as curtain falls , Mrs. Blood l,, Mr. Mark¬ 
ham r.) 


OUT OF HIS SPHERE. 


17 


ACT II. 

Scene. — Room in Markham’s house. Table c. r., lounge 
L. Room elegantly furnished. Entrances r. and l. An 
opening down c., hung with curtains , folded back , show¬ 
ing room beyond. This room contains a bed,, in which, as 
curtain rises, Jedediah is discovered. 

Jedediah (half awake, yawning). Wa’all, I s’pose it’s 
daylight, an’ daylight means ter duff into work like a nigger 
afore the Rebellion. That’s my luck, though, an’ I s’pose it 
alius will be. Come, Bet, I reckon it’s about time to get up. 
(Not fterceiving her.) Why, where are ye? Up an’gone, 
ez sure ez nater! I reckon the older that woman grows, the 
smarter she gets. (Sits up in bed and. looks around room 
bewildered.) What — on — airth ! Why, where am I, any¬ 
how? I must be dreamin’ — I must, by the great horn 
spoon! (Jumps out of bed. Has on long dressing-gown.) 
I ain’t: I’m awake. I know I’m awake. Bet, I say, Bet! 
(Goes to opening and looks around stage.) Holy Moses ! 
what hez happened ? I’ll be blowed if I don’t think I’ve been 
drinkin’. (Comes downfront, shouts.) Bet! Bet! 

Mary (enters r. i e.). Did the gentleman call ? 

J edediah (rushing behind curtains, and thrusting his head 
out). Here, you git out! Hain’t you got no more manners 
nor an ox? I’m undressed. 

Mary (approaching c.). Did not the gentleman call ? 
Jedediah. No, the gentleman didn’t call. Who are you, 
an’ where did you come from? 

Mary. The gentleman must be wild, if he does not know 
his own servant. (Comes down.) 

Jedediah. Servant be blowed ! (Drawing curtain close.) 
You go back. You ain’t no servant o' mine. What do you 
want ? 

Mary. I came in answer to your call. 

Jedediah. You did, hey ? Wa’all, then, you just trot out 
at my command. Who are you? 

Mary. I am your servant. 


18 


OUT OF HIS SPHERE. 


Jedediah. Not by a long shot, you ain’t. I don’t hire 
but one servant, an’ he’s a Dutchman. Look here, du you 
know where 1 am ? 

Mary. The gentleman is in his own house. 

Jedediah. That’s another lie; then, agin, I ain’t no gen¬ 
tleman. Now, see here : you ain’t wanted, so jest bundle up 
an’ dust right out, an’ the quicker the better. 

Mary. Can I not be of some assistance to you ? 

Jedediah. No, you can’t. I don’t know you. I don’t 
want ter know you. The woman I want is Betty, an’ where 
in the name of Pike’s Peak is she ? 

Mary. If mistress is wanted I will call her. She is tak¬ 
ing her afternoon walk. I will tell her you are awake. {Exit 
R. I E.) 

Jedediah ( opening curtains and coming out). What in 
the name of all that’s good an’ holy does this mean ? Who 
was that are gal, an’ what did she mean by arternoon ? Ain’t 
this mornin’, I should like ter know ! Holy Moses ! I’m com¬ 
pletely unwound. Why, this room is a palace alongside o’ 
mine. {Looks at gown he has on.) And this gown ! When 
did I ever wear a long-jinted, spotted article like this ! I ain’t 
used ter it. If I've got the nightmare I’m a-goin’ ter shout; 
that is, if I kin. I’ve hern tell if you could shout, or thrash 
yourself about, it would wake you up from the toughest night¬ 
mare on record. So here goes. (. Rushing around stage 
knocking over chairs , etc.) Hello ! Hello ! Fire ! Mur¬ 
der! Murder! 

John ( enters r. i e.). What’s the matter? Anything 
wrong ? Better keep quiet. 

Jed. {rushing behind curtains). You go back. {Perceives 
John.) Oh, I cakerlated that gal had cum back. YVa’all, who 
in thunder are you ? 

John. Called John. 

Jed. You are, hey ? {Opening curtains and coming out.) 
Well, what do you want ? 

John. Look after room, place things right. {Places 
chairs , etc.) 

Jed. Place things right. Wall, if you’ll jest place me 
right, I’ll be much obleeged. How did I cum in this house ? 

John. Born here. 

Jed. Born here ! Jehoshaphat! do you think I’ve turned 
fool in the head? 

John. Don’t know. 


OUT OF HIS SPHERE. 


19 


Jed. Don’t, hey? Wa’all, I kinder cakerlate you don’t. 
An’ I cakerlate you don’t know whether I’m crazy ez a bed¬ 
bug, or gone tetotally astray. 

John. Don’t know. Time for supper. Better dress. 
Will help you. ( Crosses to room , c.) 

Jed. You will? Wa’all, I reckon I kin dress without eny 
o’ your assistance. ( Crossing to room , c.) See here, how 
did I get into this dress, an’ not know it ? 

John. Don’t know. {Holding up clothes. ) Clothes are 
ready. You are talking nonsense —bah ! 

Jed. Talkin’ nonsense, am I ? Wa’all, I reckon my tongue 
is my own, an’ I kin use it ez I see fit. 

John. All right — talk on. Wise man holds tongue. 
Old proverb. Better follow it. Put clothes on — talk better. 

Jedediah. Put clothes on, eh ? Wa’all, fust, you jest 
feel o’ my pulse, an' see if they are reg’lar. ( Holds up hand.) 
If they ain’t, I'm in a ragin’ fever. If they are, I must be 
crazy for sartin. If they ain’t one nor t’other, then you jest 
tell me what is the matter, for I’ll be blest if I know. 

John (feelmg of Jedediah’s pulse). Champagne sup¬ 
per. Too long at cards. Carried to bed in a stupor. Not 
out of stupor yet. 

Jedediah (< expressing surprise). Champagne supper? 
Too long at keerds ? Carried to bed in a stupor ? What 
in thunder do you mean ? I hain’t had no champagne, an’ I 
hain’t been in a stupor; an’ ez fer keerds, I never played a 
game in all my nat’ral born days. ( Perceiving clothes which 
John is holding.) Here, them ain’t no clothes o’ mine. 

John. Have got no other. Took’em off last night. 

Jedediah. I tell ye, I didn’t. I never saw them clothes 
afore. What I took off was a blue drillin’ frock, a pair o’ 
barndoor pants, an’ cowhide boots with a hole in each toe. 
Them things ain’t mine, an’ I won’t wear ’em. 

John. Don’t know what you mean. You talk in riddles 
— bah ! Must put them on, or none. 

Jedediah. Must, hey ? P’r’aps it’s for you ter dictate 
what I shall wear, an’ what I sha’n’t. You jest wait, an’ if 
my clothes are here, I’ll find ’em. 

John. All right. ( Stands r. c. of room while Jedediah 
searches for clothes.) 

Jedediah ( coming down). Wa’all, I s’pose if they ain’t 
here, they ain’t. It’s my luck, though, my pesky, consarned 
luck. Here, I’ll trot ’em on. {Takes clothes from John. 


20 


OUT OF HIS SPHERE. 


Looks them over.) Holy Moses ! du you think I kin wear 
these things ? Look at these pantaloons! Look at ’em, I 
say! Du you think I kin ever crawl into ’em ’an live ? 
(Holds up ftantaloons, which are ?nuch too small.) 

John. Prevailing style. Fit tight— show form. 

Jedediah. Wa’all, I should kiender reckon they would. 
Howsomever, I’ll try ’em. (John closes curtains, Jedfdiah 
is supposed to have on duplicate of clothes in his hand. He 
takes off dressing-gown, puts on swallow-tail coat and vest. 
Whole suit must be old style, and much too small. Time 
allowed for change.) There ! they’re on. Now what on 
airth is wanted next ? 

John. Wash. Sink is here. I will wait. ( Opens cur- 
tains.) 

Jedediah. Now, this is what I call being claw-handled 
an’ everlastingly chawed up. What in Jehoshaphat it all 
means 1 can’t understand. It must be I’m a second Rip 
Van Winkle. (Washes at sink. John starts to wipe him 
with towel.) Here, I’ll handle that towel myself. (Snatches 
towel from John.) There ! (Throws towel across chair.) 
Now. if you’ve eny other outlandish duty for me ter perform, 
jest mention it; for I’ve got ter that state that I’m prepared 
for most anything. 

John. Hair needs combing. I will comb it. Chair out 
here. (Comes down front. Places chair c.) Sit down. 

Jedediah (coming down front). Now look a here; I 
want you ter understand that I hain’t hired you, an’, what is 
more, I don’t intend ter. If you work for me, you du it on 
your own account — remember that. (Sits down in chair.) 

John. All right. (Combs his hair.) Hair in bad condi¬ 
tion. Snarled up. Snarls must come out. 

Jed. Wa’all, I’m snarled up; an’ if you kin unsnarl me, I 
shall be much obleeged. I should like ter know if I’m awake, 
an’ where I am, an’ why you are so interested in my affairs 
when I employ a Dutchman. 

John. Have seen no Dutchman. Judge you to be 
awake. This mansion is yours. Been in family seven gen¬ 
erations. Entailed estate. Hair is done. Will send for 
supper. (Touches bell on table.) 

Jed. (rising, confused). Mansion? Entailed estate? 
Been in family seven generations ? Holy Moses ! it comes 
thicker, an’ faster, an’ more of it. Then this is a mansion, is 
it ? Now, I alius had a hankerin’ ter live in a mansion ; but 


OUT OF HIS SPHERE. 


21 


I’ll be blest if this is ter my notion. Say, mister, du you 
know what I believe ? I believe you’re a liar. 

John. All right. Your opinion—stick to it. (Enter 
Mary r. i e.) Bring supper in here. 

Mary. Mistress has returned. I will arrange table for 
two. 

John. All right. ( Table c. r., they arrange cloth , etci) 

Jed. Say, gal, du you know a woman called Betty Blood ? 
Wa’all, she’s my wife. If I’m on airth, an’ she’s on airth, 
an’ you know her, jest trot her in, for I want ter see her. 

Mary. Mistress will be here to sup with you. She is 
arranging her toilet now. What is your order? 

Jed. My what? 

Mary. Your order, please? 

Jed. Wa’all, what du you want me ter order ? 

Mary. Your order for supper, please. Will you have 
sweetbread, potatoes Navarane, and fricasseed chicken ? 

Jed. Hey ? 

Mary. Will you have fricasseed chicken, potatoes Nava¬ 
rane, and sweetbread ? 

Jed. Wa’all, if it’s jest the same ter you, I’ll take hash. 

John. Bring vegetables compounded. Other synonym 
not used. Hash — bah ! (Mary exit r. i e.) 

Jed. Wa’all, I ain't so perlite but what I kin say “hash.” 
Though I s'pose, like everything else around here, it is sorter 
mixed up. Hash generally is. An’ now, mister, if you 
ain’t tu all-fired’ perlite, I should like ter know the time o’ 
day. 

John. Five o’clock. 

Jed. In the mornin’ ? 

John. No, at night. 

Jed. Du you pretend that I’ve been sleepin’ for twenty 
hours ? Holy Moses ! that accounts for my head a-feelin’ ez 
big ez a bushel basket. But s’posin’I hev! S’posin’ I’ve 
been sleepin’ for a month ; hez that anything ter du with my 
bein’ here ? This ain’t my home no more nor a seat in Con¬ 
gress is. 

John. Brain is muddled. Too much champagne. 

Jed. Champagne be dashed. I hain’t had eny champagne. 
I hain’t drank nuthin’ stronger’n green tea for a month. I 
tell you I’m a temperate man. If I’m muddled, somethin’ 
hez done it that. I don’t understand ; an’ the momentous ques¬ 
tion is, “ What is it ? ” — what hez happened ter me since I 


1 


22 OUT OF HIS SPHERE. 

retired, for I’ll be blest if 1 know. {Seats himself on lou7ige, 
l. c.) 

(Mary and another servant enter, R. i e., bringing food. 
They arrange table , assisted by John. Jedediah watches 
them , nonplussed .) 

Jed. Now, I’d give a two-year-old steer ter jest wake up 
an’ find myself in my own bed. I don’t like this — it ain’t 
right. These clothes ain’t right. This room ain’t right. 
These servants ain’t right. There ain’t nuthin’ right or 
homelike about it. Now, I went ter bed right eend foremost, 
an’ I know it; but I cakerlate I’ve got up t’other way tu. 
If I’m taken for somebody else, an’ in somebody else’s place, 
somebody ought ter know it. Betty is the woman ter du it, 
an’ I kiender cakerlate she kin. 

John {to Mary). Table is ready. Escort the lady in. 

Mary. Very well. {Exit R. i e. with servant. John re¬ 
mains standing back of table r. c. Mary ushers in Mrs. 
Blood, who is fantastically dressed. Jedediah looks at 
her with blank astonishment for a moment , then starts to 
his feet.) 

Jed. Holy Moses! look a here, Bet — 

Mrs. B. Mrs. Southernwood, if you please. {Bows 
stifflyi) 

Jed. Hey ? You got it, tu ? Got a touch o’ the same 
complaint ? Jehoshaphat! if you ain’t Bet, who in all crea¬ 
tion are ye ? 

Mrs. B. Mr. Southernwood, you astonish me. 

Jed. Mr. Southernwood astonishes you, does he ? 
Wa’all, I kiender cakerlate he sorter perplexes me. What 
claim hez he, got upon you, an’ where did you get them 
clothes ? 

Mrs. B. Mr. Southernwood, remember your place. Are 
you not over the effect of last evening’s debauch? This dis¬ 
sipation will ruin you. Better be some poor farmer, blessed 
with happiness, than a gentleman, and be in your present 
condition. 

Jed. Bet, look a here ; you talk like a nat’ral born fool. 
Confound it, all together, you’ll drive me mad. Ain’t I a 
farmer, an’ ain’t this the fust genooine trouble I ever 
had ? 

John. Come to table. Food is cooling. (Mrs. Blood 
sits r. of table , Mary stands behind her.) 

Jed. Food be hanged. I want nary fodder till I kin see 


I 


OUT OF HIS SPHERE. 23 

my way out o’ this dissipation ! Why, I never drank nuthin’ 
stronger'n cider in all my life. What du you mean ? 

Mrs. B. Mr. Southernwood, come to the table. 

Jed. I tell ye, I won’t. I want ter know what in thunder 
is the matter. 

Mrs. B. I am shocked — surprised — mortified. 

Jed. Wa’all, you’ll keep, I reckon, way things are workin’. 
Confound it, what makes you act so? Here I am completely 
wound up, an’ you a-helpin’ ter give me another twist. 
What shall I du, anyhow ? 

John. Drink tea. Tea clears the head. Clear head — 
no more. 

Jed. Tea be dashed. Howsomever, I’ll try it. (Sits at 
table , back. Drinks cup of tea.) There ! Now, Bet, I 
should like an explanation of this conundrum. I tell ye I 
want an explanation. 

Mrs. B. Mr. Southernwood! 

Jed. Don’t Southernwood me no more. I don’t like 
it, I tell ye. I’m only homespun Jedediah, an’ I alius was ; 
an’ you ain’t a consarned whit better. Now, I want ter 
know what all this means. 

Mrs. B. What does what mean ? 

Jed. My bein’ in this pesky onnat’ral condition. 

Mrs. B. In what condition, pray? 

Jed. Dod rot it! Jest ez if you didn’t know ! 

Mrs. B. I am sure I do not. You are in your own house, 
and all there is in it belongs to you. Why, soon you will be 
saying you have no money, or friends, or even a wife. 

Jed. An’ I cakeriate, way things are lookin’, that I haven’t. 
Now, you say this house belongs ter me? 

Mrs. B. Why, certainly. 

Jed. How did I cum by it? bid it off at auction ? 

John. Entailed estate. Been in fam — 

Jed. You shet right up. I don’t want eny of your advice. 
I say, how did I cum by this house ? 

Mrs. B. Why, Mr. Southernwood — 

Jed. Now, you jest hush. My dander’s riz, an’ somethin’ 
is goin’ ter break. My name ain’t Southernwood, an’ I won’t 
hear it. Now, answer my question. How did I cum by this 
house ? 

Mrs. B. You inherited it. 

Jed. Who from ? 

Mrs. B. Your ancestors. 


24 


OUT OF HIS SPHERE. 


Jed. I hain’tgot nary ancestors that’s worth a guinea-pig, 
an’ you know it ; an’, if I had, it don’t account for my bein’ 
here without my knowledge. How long hev I been here? 

Mrs. B. All your life. 

Jed. I have, have I ? Where’s the children ? 

Mrs. B. What children, pray ? 

Jed. What children ? Good Lord, our children ! 

Mrs. B. Really, I was not aware — 

Jed. Oh, you wasn’t? I see — it’s a-comin’ agin. We 
hain’t got eny children. That’s it: no children, an’ never 
had ! Most likely I wasn't ter the village last night an’ the 
whiffle-tree didn’t break, an’ the pigs didn't get out, an’ the 
cow didn't get her head stuck in a bucket, an’ — 

Mrs. B. For mercy’s sake, what are you talking 
about ? 

Mary. He must be crazy. 

John. Better retire. Sleep it off. Wake up all right. 

Jed. ( jumping up and rushing round stage). Ghost of 
Caesar! Christopher Columbus ! Shadrach and Abednego ! 

I shall go mad. Bet, explain. For Heaven’s sake, tell me 
where I am, an’ what’s the matter. 

Mrs. B. ( rising from table and coming front. Servants 
remove dishes , etc., and exit r. i e.). I have no explanations 
to give. You and that Lord What’s-his-name would go to 
the club last night, and the result is a thousand dollars wasted, 
a muddled brain, and a nearly shattered wreck of a man. 
This comes from the abuse of wealth. You sleep away the 
day ; I attend to callers, look after the servants, and transact 
your business affairs. It’s a shame — a downright shame. 
Give me the joys of a farmer’s cottage, to all the wealth of a 
Croesus. Why do you find fault, day in and day out, and 
grumble, grumble, making those around you miserable ? Mr. 
Southernwood, when you have retired, and have slept your¬ 
self into a state of reason, I will talk with you again. Until 
then, adieu. ( Bows stiffly and exit r. i e.) 

(Jed. gazes after her for some moments in blank astonish¬ 
ment. At last he slowly turns,, and speaks like one in 

despair.) 

Jed. Oh, Lord! Oh, Lord! I feel just like blubberin’ 
right out. It is evident I have gone crazy. I know it now, 
an’ I'm broke all up. ( Goes to window , R. c., and looks out.) 
Yes, there’s the water—oceans of it. This is sartinly the 
coast, an’ the coast is where the asylum is built. ( Crosses to 


OUT OF HIS SPHERE. 


25 

lounge, L. C.) Oh, Lord! I’m in a lunatic asylum, an’ these 
servants are my keepers. (. Looking around.) This is my 
cell, an’ I fancy it’s a room in a mansion. I’ll bet a dollar 
that woman wasn’t Bet. I have alius found fault with my 
sphere in life, an’ it has haunted me until my brain is turned. 
Oh, fool, fool! I should like ter stick my head in some hole 
an’ hide. If I could only sleep, an’ awake in my own room, 
with my family around me, I could make Rome howl with my 
gladness — I could, by mighty ! That sounded like a swear, 
but I can’t help it. Oh, Lord, that Jedediah Blood should 
ever come to this ! (. Buries his face in his hands.) 

John {enters R. i e. Stage gradually grows dark). Night 
is here. Shall I light up, or will you retire ? Which ? 

Jed . {waving him off). Don’t come near me. I’m crazy. 
I hardly think I’m responsible for my acts. 

John. Retire. Feel better to-morrow. 

Jed. No, it’s no use. I’m a ruined man. There’s no 
more happiness for me on earth. 

John. What’s the matter ? 

Jed. Matter? Why, man, I’m clean gone crazy. Can’t 
you see it in my eyes ? Don’t my every look indicate it ? 
Oh, Lord! put me back with my wife and children, an’ that 
pesky Dutchman for a servant, an’ I’ll never grumble again, 
— never. 

John. Dutchman — bah! ( Crosses to room, c.) Will 
fix bed. Better undress. 

Jed. Wa’all, if you command, I s’pose I’ve got ter obey. 
Look out for me, though, for I’m apt ter be dangerous. (Crosses 
to room, c.) Then you want me ter undress ; wa’all, I kin du 
it without eny of your assistance. (John closes curtains; 
tune allowed for J ed. to undress.) There, they’re off; an’ 
that gown — here, I’ll put it on myself. There, now you jest 
vamoose, an’ I’ll try ter forget my troubles in sleep. ( Gets 
into bed.) 

John. All right. Anything wanted, shout. Good-night. 
(Emerges from room, leavuig curtains closed. Remains 
standing R. c., as if listening.) 

Jed. ‘ Oh, Lord! give me my old home ez it was when I 
saw it last, an’ I’ll ask for nuthin’ more. Things’ll go ter rack 
an’ ruin now. Oh, dear ! oh, dear! I'll try ter sleep an’ forget 
I was ever born. 

(Pause. John goes to curtain and listens .) 

John. Asleep already. Will call others in. (Crosses to 


2 6 


OUT OF HIS SPHERE. 


r. i e., and calls off.) All right. ( Enter Mrs. B., dressed 
plainly , Mr. M., and Carl.) He sleeps. What next ? 

Mr. M. Resort to the same means to render him uncon¬ 
scious as at first. Before daylight he shall be in his own 
home, and resting in his own bed. The success of our un¬ 
dertaking will be tested when he awakes. 

Carl. Then I vas to be der doctor some more, don’t it? 

Mr. M. You will assist John in whatever he desires. Put 
him into his clothes, and, when ready, convey him hence. — (To 
John.) As time is precious, you will act at once. 

John. All right. ( Exit behind curtain , followed by 

Carl.) 

Mr. M. And now, Mrs. Blood, your part of the closing 
programme is easy. When he awakes he will most likely 
look upon this scene as a realistic dream. He will be deeply 
impressed by it. If questioned, you must profess ignorance 
about all that has happened. If he speaks of the day that is 
lost, you can easily remedy it by some simple excuse. I trust 
our effort has not been in vain, and that your future life will 
be benefited by it. 

Mrs. B. Indeed, I hope it may. With my husband as 
light-hearted as he was before this habit grew upon him, I 
would ask for no greater happiness. Wealth is not the idol 
I worship : far from it. But I do enjoy a pleasant home, 
however humble it may be. 

Mr. M. True ; and I sometimes think that more real 
happiness exists in a humble home, than in the glitter and 
glare of a palace. Wealth, if rightly used, is a blessing, but 
too frequently it is detrimental to a home and all that sur¬ 
rounds it. Indeed, in my own case, it has not brought the 
happiness one might naturally expect. 

John (poking head through curtains). Job is done. 

Mr. M. Very well. Bring him forth. 

John. All right. ( Disappears .) 

Mr. M. I shall not attend you on your return, as my 
presence will not be needed. My servant will convey him 
safely home, and assist in whatever may be necessary. It is 
better, though, that he should return before your husband 
awakes, as he might recognize in him the servant of to-day. 

Mrs. B. I will see that it is done ; but how am I to repay 
you for your kindness in this undertaking ? 

Mr. M. Borrow no trouble on my account. All I hope 
is that success may attend it. Ah, here they come. 



OUT OF HIS SPHERE. 


2 7 


(Enter John and Carl, bringing Jedediah.) 

Carl. Come, mine friendt, you vas too smart. It vas 
much petter to keep time to der music. Say if you vas 
ready. 

John. I am ready. Advance. 

Carl. Dot ish all right. I vill count der time. Von, 
two — von, two — von, two — 

{They pass out r. i e. with Jedediah. Mr. Markham 
and Mrs. Blood close in behind as curtain falls.) 

Quick Curtain. 


28 


OUT OF HIS SPHERE. 


ACT III. 

Scene. — Room in Jedediah’s house , same as in Act i. 

As curtain rises , Mrs. Blood is discovered seated c. R. 

Lucy reading book near r. r e., and Thomas l. i e .play¬ 
ing with ball. Carl seated c. l., clea?iing lantern. 

Time, morning. 

Thomas. Say, sis, I’ve got a conundrum. Want to 
guess it? 

Lucy. No, I don’t. Let me alone ; I’m reading. 

Thomas. Oh, come, now; guess just this one. It’s a 
good one. 

Lucy. Well, what is it? 

Thomas. Why do some ladies who do up their hair imi¬ 
tate a rooster? Bet you can’t guess it! 

Lucy. I can, too. It’s because they are proud. 

Thomas. Naw, that ain’t it. 

Lucy. Well, what is it ? 

Thomas. It’s because they wear a comb. So does a 
rooster. Say, here’s another. 

Lucy. I don’t want to hear another. I want to read. 

Thomas. Oh, come, now ; just this one. 

Lucy ( snappishly ). Well, what is it ? 

Thomas. Why is a young dude of eighteen like an open 
umbrella? Give it up? 

Lucy. Yes, I do ; why is he ? 

Thomas. ’Cause he makes a wide spread ; so does the 
umbrella. Say, here’s another. 

Lucy. I won’t hear another. 

Thomas. Oh, come now ; do. 

Carl. Hold on. I have some of dot conundrum mine 
self. 

Thomas. Oh, bosh ! you don’t know a conundrum from a 
sack er salt. 

Carl. Vot’s dot ? I don’t know der conundrum? Py 
chiminy! you vas a mistake. Vy does der hen move his 
head back and forth ven she valks ? 



OUT OF HIS SPHERE. 


29 


Thomas. You call that a conundrum ? 

Carl. Oxzickly. It vas a conundrum. Vot you know 
apout it ? 

Thomas. How should I know? I ain't a hen. 

Carl. You give him all oop ? 

Thomas. I reckon I do. 

Carl. Veil, I does der same. I would give fifty cents to 
find out dot conundrum mine self. Say, poy, here vas 
anudder. 

Thomas. Bosh ! what’s the good of what you can’t answer 
yourself? 

Carl. Vot’s der good ? Vas not dot conundrum for in¬ 
formation ? You vas too smart. If I knows der conundrum, 
what for I give him right avay ? Say, poy, here vas der 
odder. 

Thomas. Well, shoot it off. 

Carl. Vy does der cow dot vas lying down get oop mit 
der hind legs der first ? Vot you know apout dot ? 

Thomas. Give it up. 

Carl. You gives him all oop ? Py chiminy ! I does der 
same. I would give ash much ash tri dollar to find out dot 
conundrum mine self. 

Thomas. Yes, I guess you would. I’ll bet you haven’t 
a dollar ter your name. Say, I’ve got a conundrum about 
base-ball. Want ter hear it ? 

Carl. Veil, if it will cost nuttings, I vas ready to takes 
him in. Vot you know apout him ? 

Thomas. Well, it’s this. Why is the man who bats the 
ball, an’ makes a quarter run, like a statue ? 

Carl. Vy vas he like der statue ? 

Thomas. Yes, why is he? 

Carl. Veil, I don’t know ash how, but I dinks I could 
find him oudt mit a slate. 

Thomas. Oh, git out! can’t you guess it ? 

Carl. Veil, if I could, what for I vants der slate ? 

Thomas. Then you can’t tell why the man who bats the 
ball, an’ makes a quarter run, is like a statue ? 

Carl. I vas not on to it. Vy vas he ? 

Thomas. ’Cause he’s standin’ on a base, so does a 
statue. 

Carl. Dot ish so. It vas all plain when I finds him 
oudt; but der ish some tings apout dot base-ball I don’t 
understand. 


30 


OUT OF HIS SPHERE. 


Thomas. What are they? 

Carl. Veil, sometimes I have been oudt on der horse, 
und one time when I vas a leedle poy, no bigger den dot, I 
vas oudt on der camel. Now, in dot base-ball, they first 
goes oudt on der fowl, und den der goes oudt on der fly. I 
don’t understand some tings apout dot. 

Thomas. Why, that’s all plain enough. 

Carl. It vas, eh ? Veil, der may be some foolishness 
mit me, but when I haf said dot I haf rode oudt on der 
fowl, or oudt on der fly, I vas a liar, py chiminy. 

Thomas. Oh, bosh, they don’t mean that. 

Carl. Ish dot so ? It vas not der truth ? 

Thomas. N-a-w. It’s the way they catch the ball. 
You’re a smart one, you are. Ride out on a fly, ha ! ha ! ha! 
If I didn’t know more than that, I’d crawl out of sight. 
You’re too ’cute. 

Carl. Veil, if I vas green, I vas not to blame. Dot 
English vas not all Dutch to me, und don’t you forget him. 

Mrs. B. I think, Carl, laying conundrums aside, that you 
have not attended to the chores since you returned. 

Carl. Veil, I dinks not. I vill see to dem chores right 
avay. 

Mrs. B. You had better do so. Thomas, has everything 
gone smoothly during my absence ? 

Thomas. Well, I should reckon. We’ve jest lived on 
the fat of the land. Sis tried ter boss, though, an’ I wouldn’t 
let her. 

Lucy. I didn’t, neither. 

Thomas. Yes, you did, too. 

. Lucy. Well, he undertook to tell me how to do house¬ 
work, and that wasn’t his place. 

Mrs. B. Never mind that now. Your father will soon 
awake, and when he does, you want to be careful. Remem¬ 
ber, you are not to intimate that he has been away, or say 
anything about what has happened. 

Carl. Veil, if dot corn vas hoed, vill he not find him 
oudt ? 

Thomas. Oh, but I didn’t hoe it. I left that for you. 
S’pose I’m goin’ ter be boss, an’ du my own work ? Well, 
I guess not ; I played ball yesterday. 

Carl. Mine gracious ! you vas not much of a farmer. 

Jed. {calling off L. 3 e.). Halloo, there ! Bet, I say, Bet! 

Mrs. B. (rising). There, Jedediah is calling. Now, do 


OUT OF HIS SPHERE. 31 

be careful about makiug mistakes. All depends upon this 
interview, whether our scheme has been a success or not. 

Jed. (calling). Bet, I say, Bet ! 

Mrs. B. Yes, Jed, I am coming. (Exit l. 3 e.) 

Thomas. Oh, won’t it be fun ! 

Carl. Veil, if he finds oudt dot leedle trick, it vas not so 
funny. Mine gracious ! it vas a bad day for der house, und 
don’t forget it, 

Thomas. Oh, but he won’t du it. Everything is fixed. 

Lucy. Yes, but you’ll have to say something to spoil it 
all. 

Thomas. How du you know I will? Guess I kin keep 
still ez well ez you kin. 

Lucy. Well, if you do, you’ll do better than usual. 

Thomas. Oh, come, now ! what’s the use! 

Carl. If I vas derfadder of two children dot always quar¬ 
relled, you know what I’d do mit ’em ? I’d tell ’em der story 
of dot Leedle Red Riding Hood und der wolf, und den lock 
’em up mit der cellar to fight him oudt. I would, py 
chiminy ! 

Thomas. Yes, I guess you would. I guess you’d get the 
worst of it. Hold on : here comes dad. 

(Enter Mrs. B. and Jed., l. 3 e. He is withoiit coat or 

vest , hair unconibed, is minus one sjtsftender , and is but¬ 
toning up the other as he entersl) 

Jed. Wa’all, if this ain’t the cur’usest of all cur’us cir¬ 
cumstances that ever happened, then I’m no judge o’ wheat. 
(Looking around.) Yes, this is the kitchen, an’ the children 
are both here ; an Carl, the Dutchman, is here tu. 

Carl. Yaw, I tink I vas. Der ish no mistake apout dot. 

Jed. An’ this ain’t no lunatic asylum, an’ I ain’t under 
the management o’ keepers. 

Mrs. B. I should hope not, Jed. What put that thought 
into your head ? 

Jed. An’ this ain’t a mansion, an’ I ain’t surrounded by 
wealth, an’ you ain’t no Mrs. Southernwood ? 

Mrs. B. For mercy’s sake, Jedediah, what are you talk¬ 
ing about ? 

Jed. An’ last night I went ter bed in my own room, an’ 
didn’t get out of it till now. An’ this mornin’ Carl an’ Thomas 
an’ I was ter hoe the corn, an’ fix up the fence, an’ look after 
the pigs. 

Mrs. B. That was your intention when you retired. 


32 


OUT OF HIS SPHERE. 


Jed. An’ now it is mornin’, an’ we are all here, an’ ready 
for business, like ez if nuthin’ hed happened ? 

Carl. Yaw, I vas ready. 

Mrs. B. Why, certainly they are. What in the world 
has come over you ? What are you talking about ? 

Jed. {crossing over' to R. C., and sitting down bewildered). 

I — I don’t hardly know. I — I guess I ain’t quite awake. 

Thomas. I reckon dad must be out of his head. 

Lucy. You hold your tongue. 

Thomas. I guess I kin speak if I want ter. 

Jed. I haven’t been away from home since I went ter bed 
last night, hev I ? 

Carl. Veil, if you have, I should know sometings apout it. 

Mrs. B. What an absurd question ! How could you re¬ 
tire, and then go away, and not know it ? 

Jed. {puzzled). Don’t know — don’t know nuthin’ about 
it. I s’pose it’s all right, but I’ll be blessed if I understand. 

Mrs. B. Can’t understand! What is it you can’t under¬ 
stand, Jed ? 

Jed. Why, about my bein’ away; an’ that gal {looking 
around him), where is she ? 

Lucy. I am here, father. 

Jed. No, 1 don’t mean you : I mean— Blessed if I know 
what I du mean ! An’ that chap ez was bound ter dress me 
when I didn’t ax him. Ain’t he here ? 

Mrs. B. Jed, when you get ready to explain yourself, and 
tell me what in the world you are talking about, I will answer 
your questions. If you are out of your head, I want to know 
it. Never have I seen you act so strangely before. There 
is no one here, that I know of, excepting our own family. 

Thomas {grinning). Say, dad ; shall I fix the fence where 
the pigs got out ? 

Mrs. B. {sharply). Thomas! 

Jed. {scratching his head as if thinking). Pigs — pigs! 
why, sartin. If the fence needs fixin’, why, fix it. {As if 
struck with an ideal) I say, Bet! 

Mrs. B. Well, Jed? 

Jed. I’m all right, ain’t I ? Haven’t been sick, or out of 
my head, or nuthin’ ? 

Mrs. B. Why, certainly not. You retired as well as you 
ever did in your life. 

Jed. Didn’t talk in my sleep, did I, or say strange things, 
or shout, or act ez if I hed gone mad ? 


OUT OF HIS SPHERE. 


33 


Mrs. B. Not that I know of.— Or, let me see ; it does 
seem as if you was somewhat restless. But why do you ask ? 

Jed. Because somethin’ cur’us hez happened — somethin’ 
I can t understand — somethin’ that seems too nat’ral to be a 
dream. 

? 

e self. 

Mrs. B. Yes, Jed, if you can say anything to explain why 
it is you act so strangely, I should like to hear it. 

Jed. Wa’all, then, you jest listen. I’ve been a purty tem- 
p’ret man all my life, ez I cakerlate you purty well know. 
An’ I cakerlate you also know that nuthin’ stronger’n cider 
hez passed my lips since we was jined together. 

Mrs. B. Not to my knowledge, Jed. 

Jed. An’ I’ve been purty strict about keeping the Sabbath, 
an' I don’t swear, an’ ain’t addicted ter many bad habits. 

Mrs. B. You are not, Jed. 

Jed. But, with all these good qualities, I hain’t been an 
angel, an’ I cakerlate I never kin be. I’ve hed a sinful desire 
ter be a rich man. So much so that it hez made me miser¬ 
able, an’ all these around me. 

Mrs. B. True ; too true. 

Jed. An’ that desire hez clung ter me like the canker-rash, 
an’ haunted me till I was purty nigh distracted. I hev found 
fault with myself, the world, an’ purty nigh everybody else. 
I hev grumbled an’ grumbled, an’, in fact, hev considered 
myself the onluckiest man on airth. 

Mrs. B. You have, Jed. 

Jed. Wa’all, Bet, I’ve had a lesson — yes, a genooine 
lesson. Why, I wouldn’t swap this old wrack of a shanty, ez 
I’ve called it, with the treasures it contains to-day, for all the 
bloomin’est bloomed mansions that ever stood on the face of 
the earth. I tell ye, I wouldn’t du it. 

Mrs. B. But what has changed your mind ? What has 
come over you ? 

Jed. I cakerlate I’ve hed a dream. 

All. A dream! 

Jed. Yes, a dream. 

Lucy. Oh, father, do tell it. A dream is as good as a 
novel. 

Thomas. Yes, an’better, too; ’cause it’s more excitin’. 
I dreamed once I was chased by a bear, an’ I couldn’t hardly 


(together) What is 5t ’ father 
Kfogetner). What dad ? 


Lucy 
Thomas 

Carl. Veil, I should like to know min 


34 


OUT OF HIS SPHERE. 


run, an’ jest as the bear was a-goin’ ter take me in, head an’ 
all, I awoke. Oh, gosh ! I kin see that bear now. 

Carl. Veil, I have some dreams once mine self. 

Thomas. Oh, git out! what was it? 

Carl. Veil, ven I vas a poy, I slept mit my prodder John, 
and von night I dreamed ash how I struck him on top der 
nose mit my fist; and dot prodder, he vas so mad dot he 
jhust jumped right oop und clinched me by der throat, und 
choke me like ash-1 vas hung mid a rope. Und jhust ash dot 
prodder vas a-chocking me der hardest, I avoke. 

Thomas. An’ it was all a dream ? 

Carl. No, py himmel! it vas not all a dream. I struck 
dot prodder ven I vas asleep, und ven I avoke dot prodder 
vas jhust a-chocking me like the tyvel. Der vas no dreaming 
apout dot. 

Mrs. B. Now, Jedediah, let us hear about your dream. 
I am anxious to know about this change. 

Jed. {coming down front. They all gather around him). 
Wa’all, Bet, my dream is somethin’ like a vision, an’ if I 
wasn’t in my own house, an’ surrounded by my own family, 
an’ didn’t see everything in the usual way, an’ didn’t know 
that it was impossible to be otherwise, I should say it was a 
reality. I should now, jest ez sure ez nater. 

Mrs. B. Go on, Jed. 

Jed. Wa’all, arter I went ter bed last night I must ’a’ dozed 
off inter a dream. Anyhow, I thought I awoke, an’ I was in a 
strange place, an’ everything around me was in the allfiredest 
style you ever seed. I thought I was a-dreamin’, an’ so 
tore around to wake myself up, when in came a gal I never 
seed afore, an’ a chap who looked ez sour ez a keg of old 
cider. They said ez how they Was my servants, an’ they was 
detarmined ter wait upon me when I didn’t ax ’em. They 
said ez how the place I was in was a mansion, an’ belonged 
ter me, an’ how I hed heaps o’ money, an’ nuthin’ ter du but 
jest be waited upon the hull of my life. 

Thomas. Oh, that was jest fun. 

Carl. I would like some of dot dream mine self. 

Mrs. B. Go on, Jed. 

Jed. Wa’all, when 1 told ’em it was a consarned lie, an’ 
that I was nuthin’ but a poor farmer who hed got inter the 
wrong clothes, they jest laflfed, an’ said I hed been drinkin’. 
At last you came in, tetotally fixed up, an’ proud ez Lucifer, 
an’ called me by a new name, an’ said drink was a-ruinin’ me, 


OUT OF HIS SPHERE. 


35 


an’ that we hed no children, an’ sech talk ez that, till I was 
mad ez a March hare clean through. Then you upbraided 
me for grumblin’, an’ for my meanness, an’ at last left me in 
the most bewildered state I was ever in. Arter that I thought 
I was in a lunatic asylum, an’ them servants was my keep¬ 
ers, an’ you wasn’t Bet at all, an’ that I must remain there 
the rest of my nat’ral life. Why, I was the onhappiest 
mortal you ever seed. When I went ter bed, ez I thought 
I did, yer see, I would hev given the best crop I ever raised 
if it hed been in my old home an’ in my own room. 
Wa’all, I was a-thinkin’ of that when I fell asleep, an’ this 
mornin’ I awoke, an’ there I was in my own bed, jest ez if 
nuthiu’ hed happened. 

ThoMas. An’ it wasn’t nuthin’ but a dream, arter all. 

Mrs. B. Thomas ! 

Jed. Why, of course not; but it has larned me a lesson 
I reckon I shall never forget. 

Mrs. B. And what is that, Jedediah ? 

Jed. Ter never agin, no matter under what circumstances 
I am placed, or how poor my condition may be, to never agin 
find fault with my sphere in life. 


CURTAIN. 




















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THE CLEFT STICK. A Comedy in 3 Acts. 

6 male, 3 female char. 

COUSIN TOM. a Comedietta in 1 Act. 

By Geo. Roberts. 3 male, 2 female char. 

DAMON AND PYTHIAS. A Farce. 6 

male, 4 female char. 

DANDELION’S DODGES. A Farce in 1 

Act. By T. J. Williams. 4 male, 2 female char. 

THE DAUGHTER OF THE REGIMENT. 

A Drama in 2 Acts. By Edward Fitzball. 6 male, 

2 female char. 

DIAMOND CUT DIAMOND. An Interlude 

in 1 Act. By W. H. Murray. 10 male, 1 female. 

DONE ON BOTH SIDES. A Farce in 1 

Act. By J. M. Morton. 3 male, 2 female char. 

DON’T JUDGE BY APPEARANCES. A 

Farce in 1 Act. By J. M. Morton. 3 male, 2 female. 

DORA. A Pastoral Drama in 3 Acts. By 

Chas. Read*. 5 male, 2 female char. 

A DOUBTFUL VICTORY. A Comedy in 

1 Act. 3 male, 2 female char. 

DUNDUCKETTY’S PICNIC. A Farce in 1 

Act. By T. J. Williams. 6 male, 3 female char. 

EAST LYNNE. A Drama in 5 Acts. 8 

male, 7 female char. 

GASPARDO THE GONDOLIER. A Drama 

a 3 Acts. By George A1 mar. 10 male, 2 female. 

GIVE A DOG A BAD NAME. A Farce. 

2 male, 2 female char. 

THE HIDDEN HAND. A Drama in 5 Acts. 

Bv Robert Jones. 16 male, 7 female char. 

HIT HIM, HE HAS NO FRIENDS. A 

Farce in 1 Act. By E. Yates and N. H. Harrington. 

7 male, 3 female char. 

A HUSBAND TO ORDER. A Serio-comic 

Drama in 2 Acts. 5 male, 3 female char. 

I’VE WRITTEN TO BROWNE. A Farce 

in 1 Act. By T. J. Williams. 4 male, 3 female char. 

JOHN DOBBS. A Farce in 1 Act. By 

J. M. Morton. 5 male, 2 female char. 

JOHN WOPPS. A Farce in 1 Act. By 

W. E. Suter. 4 male, 2 female char. 

THE LOST CHILDREN. A Musical En¬ 
tertainment in 5 Acts. By Mrs. Lewis Jervey. 8 
male, 5 female char., and chorus. 

LOOK AFTER BROWN. A Farce in 1 Act. 

By George A. Stuart, M.D. 6 male, 1 female char. 

LOST IN LONDON. A Drama in 3 Acts. 

6 male, 4 female char. 


LYING WILL OUT. A Comedy in 4 Acts. 

By H. Pelham Curtis. 6 male, 4 female char. 

MADAM IS ABED. A Vaudeville in 1 Act. 

2 male, 2 female char. 

MARY MOO; or, Which Shall I Marry? 

A Farce in 1 Act. By W. E. Suter. 2 rattle, 1 fern. 

M0NSEI6NEUH* A Dr&inH in 3 Acts* By 

Thomas Archer. 15 male, 3 female char. 

MY PRE CIOUS BETSY. A Farce in 1 Act. 

By J. M. Morton. 4 male, 4 female char. 

MY TURN NEXT. A Farce in 1 Act. By 

T. J Williams. 4 male, 3 female char. 

NICHOLAS FLAM. A Comedy in 2 Acts. 

By J. B. Buckstone. 5 male, 3 female char. 

NONE SO DEAF AS THOSE WHO WON'T 

Hear. A Comedietta in 1 Act. By H, P. Curtis. 2 
male, 2 female char. 

NURSEY CHICK WEED. A Farce in 1 Act. 

By T. J. Williams. 4 male, 2 female char. 

OLD HONESTY. A Comic Drama in 2 

Acts. By J. M. Morton. 5 male, 2 female char. 

ONLY A CLOD. A Comic Drama ini Act. 

By J. P. Simpson. 4 male, 1 female char. - 

PAYABLE ON DEMAND. A Domestic 

Drama iu 2 Acta. 7 male, 1 female char. 

THE PHANTOM BREAKFAST. A Farce 

in 1 Act. By Clias. Selby. 3 male, 2 female char. 

FUTKINS; Heir to Castles in the Air. 

A Comic Drama in 1 Act, By W. K. Emerson. 2 
male, 2 female char. 

THE QUEEN’S HEART. A Comedy in 3 

Acts. 5 male, 4 female char. 

A RACE FOR A WIDOW- A Farce in 1 

Act. By T. J. Williams. 5 male, 4 female char. 

SARAH’S YOUNG MAN. A Farce in 1 

Act. By W. E. Suter. 3 male, 3 female char 

THE SCARLET LETTER. A Drama in 3 

Acts. 8 male, 7 female char. 

SILVERSTONE’S WAGER. A Comedi¬ 

etta in 1 Act. By R. R. Andrews. 4 male, 3 female. 

A SLICE OF LUCK. A Farce in 1 Act. 

By J. M. Morton. 4 male, 2 female char. 

SMASHINGTON GOIT. A Farce in 1 Act. 

By T. J. Williams. 6 inale, 3 female char. 

A SOLDIER, A SAILOR, A TINKER, 

and a Tailor. A Farce in 1 Act. 4 male, 2 female. 

SUNSHINE THROUGH THE CLOUDS. 

A Drama in 1 Act. By Slingsby Lawrence. 3 male, 

3 female char. 

TRUE UNTO DEATH. A Drama in 2 Acts. 

By J. Sheridan Knowles. 6 male, 2 female char. 

THE TURKISH BATH. A Farce in 1 Act. 

By Montague Williams and F. C. Burnand. 6 male, 

1 female char. 

TWO GENTLEMEN IN A FIX. A Farce 

in 1 Act. By W. E. Suter. 2 male char. 

TWO HEADS BETTER THAN ONE. A 

Farce In 1 Act. Bv Lenox Horne. 4 male, 1 female. 

THE TWO PUDDIFOOTS. A Farce in 1 

Act. By J. M. Morton. 3 male, 3 female char. 

AN UGLY CUSTOMER. A Farce in 1 Act. 

Bv Thomas ,1. Williams. 3 male, 2 female char. 

UNCLE R03ERT. A Comedy in 3 Acts. 

By H. P. Curtis. 6 male, 2 female char. 

A VERY PLEASANT EVENING. A Farce 

in 1 Act. Bv W. E. Suter. 3 male char. 

THE WELSH GIRL. A Comedy in 1 Act. 

Bv Mrs. Planche. 3 male, 2 female char. 

WHICH WILL HAVE HIM? A Vaude¬ 

ville. 1 male. 2 female char. 

THE WIFE’S SECRET. A Play in 5 Acta. 

Bv Geo. W. Lovell. 10 male, 2 female char. 

YOtJR LIFE’S IN DANGER. A Farce in 

1 Act. By J. M. Morton. 3 male, 3 female char- 


WALTER H, BAKER & 00., Publishers, Boston, Mass. 


P. O. Box 2846, 



















